1. This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this site, you are agreeing to our use of cookies. Learn More.
  2. Greetings Guest!!

    In order to combat SPAM on the forums, all users are required to have a minimum of 2 posts before they can submit links in any post or thread.

    Dismiss Notice
  3. Greetings Guest! Tonights Maintenance is complete and the Stratics Community Wiki is now live. Please see this thread for more details.
    Dismiss Notice

Mushroom Trips

Discussion in 'The Hooded Crow Inn [Fiction]' started by Paytience Fawn, Dec 10, 2011.

  1. Black and gnawing it sat just out of range. Peripherally intangible but present none-the-less it was the hole where her heart should have been. There was no longer a tingling.. no longer a faint buzz to remind her that emotion had ever really existed. It was numb now, dead to all who dared look. And with it, probably the best parts of her. It was strange that she could be consciously aware it was gone and yet still feel nothing. When they chose to rear themselves, the memories of what cut it out effectively ending anything and everything she was could be a torrential downpour when they started. Much easier to wall it up, block it off and not give a flying frak one way or the other.

    What had possessed her to enter a tournament? One that essentially put her in the middle of a royal mess? Cussing under her breath she made her to the theatre. Soft and constant, it was raining in malas. Grey was an unchanging color here. In that it mimicked her mood hiding it within its folds, clasping it tightly as its own. Lifting her head up so that she was actually looking where she was headed rather than the ground her black leather boots trod on, she spotted the telepad and stepped on. Immediately she was above the Rose.. above the fort... and staring at an Auburn haired figure gingerly caressing tiny red mushrooms.

    "Ceza?" arching her brow, she pulled off her gloves and strode toward her. Letting go of the plush tops she rose. Cezanne turned round and met Paytience with warm smile.

    "Paytience." Her tone was kind and hid most of the surprise of seeing the wayward girl.

    "I assumed you'd be downstairs." Paytience had no such tact in hiding her own emotions within her tone and came off stunned and disappointed at not finding herself completely alone. She shouldn't have been, it was after all Cezanne's Theatre and one which frequently saw visitors. Letting her gaze stray to where Ceza had been stooped a moment ago, her dark eyes rested on the circle. How long had it been since they had moved within it and spoken the words? How long had it been since pieces of their souls were layed bare to each others eyes and left for observation? Critical and biting they were not. Instead a silence of admission to those which could not be spoken remained.
  2. Cezanne

    Cezanne Guest

    How many months had passed since the two had stood in the circle and laid bare their souls? Paytience looked somehow older, and changed. The girl had always seemed quiet. Irreverent. And somewhat sullen. But now she seemed all of these things, plus reckless and wild.

    “It’s been a long time, Pay. I’m glad you came back.” Cezanne smiled as Althea trotted over and snaked her fluffy black feline form in figure-eights around Paytience’s boots with a trill of greeting.

    Paytience knelt to stroke a hand over Althea, and spoke without looking up. “You’ve been all right, Ceza?”

    Cezanne nodded. “Well as can be expected. Considering…” she trailed off, looking toward gypsy camp beyond the north window.”

    “I heard.” Paytience looked up, seemingly relieved for an excuse to make eye contact. “They should have gutted her and let her burn with the camp.”

    Cezanne furrowed her brow. “The Countess made a hard decision. You burn plague...” She subconsciously repeated Arahim’s words, making them her own.

    Paytience shrugged. “Seen the Old Man around?”

    “Your brother isn’t much older than you, these days.” Cezanne smiled warmly and poured two mugs of mulled cider from a teapot on the fire. The last vestiges of green had long since drained from the apple tree, leaves scattering like seashells about the garden. “He’s been around. He’s doing well.”

    “Considering.” Paytience looked up at Cezanne, taking the mug she offered. The pain in her eyes reminded Cezanne that Arahim wasn’t the only one who suffered the loss.

    Cezanne nodded quietly. “Considering.” She sighed deeply. “How are you holding up?”

    For what seemed like a long time, Paytience didn’t speak. She took a mouthful of the cider and held it for a moment thoughtfully before swallowing, but her eyes drifted to the arcane circle as she spoke. “I’ve been better.”
  3. Considering.

    For as different as the two were, the tether of sacrifice burned ever brightly within both of their souls. The flame of recognition wasn't lost on Paytience. Her eyes locked on the lines etched into the grass, but her attention was completely focused on the figure aside of her.

    "I've been better." Cezanne nodded, her own conscience in tune with what belied the words. Four syllables that could have just as easily come from Ceza's own mouth lay heavily in the air between them. Draining the last of the warm liquid, Pay stood. Turning to the table she set the mug down with a gentleness born of care for another persons possessions.

    "They haunt but you can't touch them." Glancing back to the charred and blackened splinters of life, Pay exhaled. "They don't ever go away."

    "Scars make us stronger." Edged despite the strength implied in those words stood out in Cezanne's gaze.

    Unable to help herself, Pay glanced to the woman's wrist. If anyone knew that fact as equal or better than she did, it was Cezanne.

    "I'll crash here tonight." It hadn't been offered, but it would be allowed just the same.

    Quiet understanding laced what was inherently a Ceza response. "You were always welcome."

    A slow silent nod of Pay's head wasn't needed, Cezanne knew she'd heard it on a level far beyond the words. Stepping onto the pad, Pay made her way downstairs. Once again alone, Cezanne would have been left to her own thoughts. In the midst of the Theatre, Pay was left to the knowledge that for the first time in longer than she could recall... she wasn't alone.
  4. She was up before first light had cracked itself open amidst the haze lightening it to a more luminescent grey. She'd watched as Ceza immediately busied herself with duties. If there was a shred of difficulty in the lifting it was hidden beneath the familiarity her muscles had with the task.

    The Old Man had always referred to her as Songbird. Objectively, Pay would have to say workhorse fit the bill more aptly. Reaching for the wooden crate Cezanne had been hefting, she gave a slight groan. Her own muscles weren't strangers to work but the motion was very different. A kryss slicing through the air was not 50lbs of apples and body responded accordingly.

    "I'll find my feet, Ceza." quiet, the words were easily distinguished as having nothing to do with apples.

    "I know you will, Pay." An understanding smile answered.

    The unsurety of who she was trying to convince hung in the air between them. Neither willing to let emotion win out they respectively sucked in the silent air and returned to their respective jobs.

    Keeping her head down, "Agostino know the difference between a manifest and a mast?" She could have asked if he knew his backside from a hole in the ground, it was the same difference. Ceza quirked her brows. She didn't have to say it, "What in seven hells?" was written cleanly across her face.